It's hard to tell what started it on the right side. Some sort of irritation perhaps, a gas bubble, a cold draft, a need for a nap or some food in the stomach. No one but a mother can really know these things.

On the left it was crystal clear what the beginnings were. It was important to know what kind of potato chips to get for dinner.

A baby screaming out to the world versus someone doing their screaming into a cellphone. Two of the biggest pain in the asses in the universe were squaring off right in front of me this pill counting day. Head to head. Mano y mano. Just like Godzilla versus King Kong in one of those late night horror flicks.

Except, isn't one of the monsters in those flicks usually a force for good?

To my right a baby's world was collapsing. It's face turned crimson as it struggled to let the world know of the horror it was facing. A soiled diaper I theorized. If I was sitting in a pile of my own shit I might be tempted to scream like that too.

To my left I heard "I DON'T THINK THE PRINGLES ARE ON SALE!!"

I now received a warning that my customer waiting for his Bactrim prescription has been taking warfarin from another doctor. I cranked up the phone while able to hear every detail of the numbnut to my left's potato chip decision making process. Knowing that sound travels equally well regardless of direction, I felt good about my employer's HIPAA compliance procedures.

Things were getting no better in the baby's world.

While waiting to be put through to the on call physician, I realized the baby's mother was not waiting for medicine. She had no prescription and was not looking for an over the counter remedy. She appeared unfazed as her offspring assaulted the ears of all around. She pretended to be shopping for 7-UP but I knew her real purpose. She was an agent of the grim reaper sent to claim the life of the oldster in my waiting room. Obviously, a drug interaction was how it was supposed to go down. Satan himself was probably appearing before the wee one, terrifying him with visions from the depths of hell in order to distract the pharmacist from the risk of major bleeding.

The cellphone talker was not part of any Satanic plan. He was just an ass, but I'm sure Satan welcomed the additional backup.

The on call doctor was reached and was clueless. He sheepishly took my suggestion of cephalexin and I only had to ask him to repeat himself twice. Cellphone man wanted to know if he should grab some milk while he was in the store. I wondered how people in the 70's ever managed to put dinner on the table. Maybe that's why they were less obese back then. They never knew if they needed milk or should buy the potato chips that were on sale.

Satan sent one last wave of panic through the infant, probably hoping he could get me to grab the wrong bottle from the shelf. It was decided that milk was needed and the old man's name was called.

He was disappointed it only took 13 minutes. He was hoping for a gift card.